Owning your own business had a tendency to suck the energy from every possible outlet.
Including his mojo.
The woman, Clara, had been more than willing to take it to the next level. But his conscience stopped him when things became heated.
Although in hindsight, telling a woman you have to go, after making out for a good solid hour, clothes nearly in a pile, was probably not the best.
But Teagan had known that if he had slept with her, it would have been worse.
Score one for a conscience; zero for his blue balls.
He ought to forget about Harper completely. The whole point of this cruise was to meet up with someone. Maybe he didn’t have to find Mrs. Right, maybe she could just be Mrs. Right Now.
He wasn’t above enjoying himself if the moment was right. But even as he scanned the room, looking for someone who might interest him for the evening, all he could think about was Harper, in her room.
Alone.
It was almost as if he didn’t have a choice. His brain wasn’t going to let anyone else upstairs. Perhaps if he went to Harper, got firmly rejected, he could get the closure he needed and move on.
Just as he was about to make good on his idea, the bar stool was occupied again, only this time, it was with one of the men who’d been clustered around Harper like a drone bee around the queen.
The man didn’t waste time and got right to it. “Hello, friend, whatcha drinking?” he asked.
Curious, Teagan answered, “Beer.”
“Ahh, down-to-earth man,” he said, after ordering a glass of wine. “Look, I’m just going to get down to brass tacks because that’s the kind of man I am, which I’m sure you can appreciate.”
Teagan couldn’t wait to see where this was going.
“You see, I’m the kind of man who sees what he wants and goes after it—no matter the obstacles. That’s how I am in business and how I am in life.”
“Good for you,” Teagan replied, tipping back his beer.
“Yeah, so I think you’ll understand what I mean when I say that I got dibs on the hot brunette.”
Teagan made a point to peer around the room as if looking for said brunette. “Can you be more specific?”
“The one who was sitting right here a few minutes ago. Hot bod, long dark hair and a rack to die for. Ring a bell?”
Teagan didn’t much like Harper being reduced to such simple attributes but what could he say? He’d been pretty much snagged by those very visual cues himself. Still...he didn’t like when this douche did it.
“I’d say it’s probably a good idea to let the lady decide who she wants to spend time with,” Teagan said, finishing his beer. “Don’t you think? I mean, she is an adult, capable of making her own decisions and something tells me, that Harper is the kind of woman who would take offense to hearing someone talk about her like you just did.”
“You gonna tattle on me?” the man joked, but Teagan wasn’t laughing. He was pretty much done with this conversation and the only thing keeping him from punching this guy’s lights out was that he didn’t want to be put in the brig. Or whatever served as a holding cell for unruly passengers. “So you’re saying you’re not going to back off?”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because I called dibs.”
He called dibs. Good God, give me strength.
Teagan smirked as he rose from his seat. “Well, I’m not twelve and I don’t recognize the dibs game any longer. She’s not a piece of candy, she’s a woman. If you can’t interest her squarely on your own, then that’s not my problem. Good luck with your dibs.”
Teagan pushed past the man, leaving him to burn hot coals into his back but Teagan didn’t care. The man was an asshole.
But even so, the man had served one unexpected purpose—he’d given Teagan a much-needed splash of cold water on his overheated brain.
The purpose of this trip was to loosen up and have fun, not beat down every Tom, Dick and Harry who hoped to snag the “hot brunette with the smoking body,” and if Mr. Swagger was any indication of what chasing after Harper Riley would be like, then Teagan was out.
As if the universe was listening, a sassy redhead cast a flirty smile his way and he responded in kind.
J.T. was a vocal proponent of redheads now.
And this one wasn’t bringing gun-toting maniacs in her wake.
This trip may be salvageable, after all.
* * *
HER GAME FELT OFF. With Stuart being a no-show and then Teagan getting in her head, Harper felt tilted, which wasn’t a good sign.
She needed to be on target to snag Stuart.
Harper changed into her pajamas, removed her makeup and then crawled into bed, phone in hand.
More research.
Stuart. Buck.
She stared at the most recent picture, taken at some toilet seminar where he’d been the lead speaker, and chewed her lip as she frowned.
The Toilet King.
Harper wrinkled her nose with distaste. That was a tall order, but Harper didn’t care what other people said about her as long as the checks cleared.
Louis Vuitton bag.
Chanel dress.
Louboutin heels.
Teagan had been spot-on.
And the religious workouts—Pilates, CrossFit, Zumba, yoga—anything and everything to keep her body fit and toned.
It was exhausting.
She had no social life.
Friends were a luxury she couldn’t afford.
And God only knew she never confided in her lovers about anything, because she wasn’t the person they thought she was.
She played a part, for which she accepted payment in the form of expensive gifts and luxury vacations.
But she wouldn’t be young forever.
Sooner or later, time would catch up to her and no amount of Pilates would keep her ass from succumbing to gravity.
Harper winced at the cruelty awaiting her and that fear renewed her purpose.
That’s why Stuart was so important.
This one was going to marry her.
No more playing the mistress or girlfriend with nothing legally binding.
She couldn’t live on gifts alone.
And that meant she had to be smart.
Stuart wasn’t a stupid playboy with a trust fund.
He was a successful businessman who’d been loyal to his wife until the day she died.
Stuart held old-fashioned values and believed in hard work and fair play.
Honestly, Stuart was the kind of man Harper would have liked for a father or grandfather.
Except instead of going to Stuart for fatherly advice, she was going to seduce the man.
Harper groaned when a tiny bubble of bile rose in her throat.
What was wrong with her?
Stuart was not the worst she’d slept with.
He seemed kind, generous...and incredibly old.
Okay, maybe he wasn’t the